


in calm or stormy weather

by cirque



Category: Goblin Market - Christina Rossetti, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Don't Have to Know Canon, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Elements, Goblins, Misses Clause Challenge, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque
Summary: Find a fairy ring. Bring an offering. Cakes work best, or bread in a pinch - something you’ve made yourself. Don’t wear any iron or wards; that’ll only piss them off. Call out your intent three times. Don’t expect to like what you find, and for god’s sake - be careful.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	in calm or stormy weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MixolydianGrey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MixolydianGrey/gifts).



> Will add beta info after reveals!

_In the bleak mid-winter_

_Frosty wind made moan;_

_Earth stood hard as iron,_

_Water like a stone;_

_Snow had fallen, snow on snow,_

_Snow on snow,_

_In the bleak mid-winter_

_Long ago._

**LAURA**

Once this had been Hampstead Heath pond, but now it was little more than a slushy bog, the sulphur bubbling on lazily. A duck skeleton floated up as Laura stood there, watching. The skull detached from the spine and its head gaped into an endless scream. She braced herself on a nearby stricken tree trunk, her fingers sticking to the icy bark. Staring upwards into the white, white gathering clouds, there were cinders in the sky.

It was a raw cold August day. Laura’s feet dragged as she fought against the wind. Her hood kept getting blown down and she clutched at it with frozen fingers, her breath a tangible fog around her. She kicked her way through the carpet of ash. _It was all her fault_.

When she was sixteen, still half a girl, Laura committed a crime. Girlhood was treacherous enough in those days, without any dalliances with goblin men. She had been fine, really, until the goblin market came to town. She was a smart girl, or so her teachers used to say. She had a solid head on her shoulders. She was astute. _Sensible_. It had not, it transpired, been sensible to make eye contact with the goblin men. Laura had looked, and wanted, and in her wanting had lost sight of what she had. She had turned her face towards the false light emitted by their fairy lanterns. She had reached up and took what they offered. She had eaten, and damned herself, and damned the world besides.

The goblins put on a good show. No matter how many times she thought it over, she came back to that: they had lured her in. If it hadn’t been her, it would have been some other foolish girl, fair of heart and ripe for the plucking. They had marched in the parade, the way that goblins did, arhythmic and chaotic, with all their wares laid out, and Laura had been there, just a girl, just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dragonfruit, damson berries, rich cheddar, strawberry jam, glossy on the serving platter. She had only wanted a taste. She hadn’t meant to end the world. 

The world ended on a weekend. The goblin men came to town every Saturday, without fail. They danced along the tracks of London’s underground at Holloway station, their songs echoing around the tiled walls, the scents of their goods getting caught in the updraft, enticing anyone who dared to watch. Sweet plums, oozing berries, shining chocolate, rippling ice cream - it was all too delicious to resist. Laura had reached out, had taken a pomegranate in her grasp and shoved it to her lips, drinking of the juice. 

Her sister Lizzie had gasped. “Don’t!” But too late - The pomegranate seeds were running down Laura’s chin, and she grinned a grin of juice and pulp. It tasted like fire, like the sweetest candy she could imagine.

Lizzie was smart. Lizzie knew to avert her eyes. Laura, whose senses had apparently abandoned her, did not. The goblin men lured her closer. She stood at the very edge of the platform, over the yellow line, their piping music filling her ears: a taunt in C Major. They asked her what manner of coin she had to pay for her mouthful. 

“Nothing,” she said.

Their eyes turned cold, their music ceased. Their pattering feet fell silent at once. _Nothing?_ Echoed their shrill voices. _No coin for our ware? How dare she? How dare she eat of our fruit!_

“I’m sorry,” said Laura, choking on pomegranate flesh.

The chief among them dropped its platter, and the echo shot around the tunnel. “No coin?” It murmured. “You foolish girl.” It reached out a bony hand, grey flesh pulled tight, and touched the blonde edges of her hair. It grasped a handful and tugged. 

She fought against it, but it dragged her along and off the platform so that she was suspended over the train tracks, her legs kicking feebly, ten feet off the ground. Lizzie was rooted to the spot, her eyes still smartly shut. The crowd gaped up at them, too shocked to react further. The goblin released Laura with a final cackle, and she hit her head on the tracks below. When she awoke, the world was ending, and the winter was setting in. Lizzie, and everyone else, was dead.

Laura had been alone for ten years with no one but the bones of her neighbours to talk to. No one but the bones and the blurred-out sun, which rose every morning on a forgotten world.

The goblin men were wretched little things. She didn’t know how she hadn’t seen that at first, how she had ever been taken in by them. She was a _stupid_ girl, a fool to believe they would let her into their world. She had had one glorious taste, and then it was over. Drooping herbs, green and pretty, fresh wild eggs, sugary syrup, caramel hot and dribbling.

The goblins had released a curse that ate the world, leaving behind an eternal winter, a dull grey speckled sky, an acidic wasteland. They turned the rain to poison; the grass curled up around the edges. The sun could scarcely shine through the dust clouds that plumed above the dying ground.

At Hampstead Heath, Laura was sobbing up into the unforgiving sky. The pond bubbled on beside her. She felt her tears freeze to icicles on her cheeks. She wiped her face on her sleeve and turned her back on the pond. She cut her way through the skeletal grass, looking for anything in the wreckage that might prove useful. Batteries were good, if they were intact,. She breathed out a plume of icy breath and watched it melt into the browning sky. Tomatoes were welcome, if she could find them, or tinned fruit, oranges and peaches preserved in sticky syrup. Dull echoes of the goblin’s wares, but enough to keep her going. She had found some string beans not too long ago; those were easy going down. She turned the corner, her goal in sight.

At the scrapheap, the wind got caught in the tall piles of junk, whistling like an urgent kettle. It came whipping around the corners, furious at something. Laura wore her best jacket, but even that wasn’t good enough; the wind still cut through her. She looked through the mud and mess, searching for treasures. Before the end, she had favoured costume jewellery and semi-precious stones, having a particular soft spot for amber and aventurine. Now she kicked aside a jewel-laden necklace with grim disinterest.

She continued to dig through a rubbish pile and found a better coat, so she swapped. The new coat had toggles that she could pull tight around her waist and neck; no more losing her hood in an updraft. It was purple and shiny and it felt strange to have nice things when the world was so ravaged.

Laura visited the scrapheap as often as she could. Over the years, she had searched the whole ground several times over and had found all that she would likely ever find, but occasionally some things jumped out at her, things like the cigarette lighter she had found a few weeks ago or the tinned beans. She accumulated useful objects like a dragon hoarded wealth. The tower block was full of them - after she had buried her neighbours, Laura had turned their flats into workshops and storage units. Anything that she could drag up the stairs, anything that she could carry, would find itself being stored away. She had very little else to do to occupy the hours.

Laura stared dumbly at a hollowed-out car. It was a Citroen, and had probably once been shiny puce but was now just a sun-bleached mass of curling metal. Very little of the original colour remained. Laura tried to imagine the people who had owned it, where they went, whether they obeyed the speed limit, the dog they had. She imagined a staffy, tearing around the house, several happy kids, and bank holidays in Margate with too much ice cream. It hurt her, deep inside, to think of the people these objects used to belong to. There was a pink teddy bear hanging from the rear-view mirror. She sobbed emptily. 

She gave herself a good moment before wiping away her tears. There were, occasionally, times when she could not stop the tears, though less and less lately. It was just something that happened to her body. 

In the beginning, she had cried all the time, often without meaning to start. She’d sworn at the sky and the goblins both, though found it did no good. No good at all. It was as though she was up to her neck in water, waiting to drown.

It wasn’t all suffering. Ten years of solitude had taught her enterprise and resourcefulness. It had been very difficult to resist that lesson. Laura had learned the hard way how to survive out here, amid the mud and mess. When she thought of it she was quite proud of the way she had managed to carry on.

She pushed aside a punctured car tyre and let it roll onto its side, smacking into the assorted junk that littered the floor. Underneath it lurked a torch, small and silver, a little handheld thing. She picked it up and half expected it to fall apart, it looked so flimsy, but the lens was still intact and when she pressed the switch a little cheery beam of light shone out, illuminating her corner of the scrapheap.

She found some discarded wool in baby blue, peeking out of a rubbish bag containing the remains of someone’s house clearance, ancient history by now. Laura was finger knitting a scarf, just for something to do, something to occupy the hours. Over the years she had made more than enough woollen blankets and misshapen hats, and wanted to branch out into something different. She had run out of suitable wool several weeks ago and shelved the project for the time being, so she stuffed the blue wool into her backpack, alongside the torch.

Laura straightened up and slung her bag over her shoulder. No food this time, but the wool more than made up for it, and there was always tomorrow; an endless array of tomorrows stretched out further than she could see, as endless as the snow. She tried, often, not to be bitter about it, but it helped that she didn’t have an audience. When she broke, it was alone.

**LIZZIE**

Ever since Jeanie had disappeared, Lizzie had a thing about looking at the goblin men. She would never admit it aloud, but they scared her something fierce. She always had the feeling their purplish eyes were looking directly into her soul. She would crouch down beside her sister, listen to them cavort along the subway tracks, imagine what godforsaken expressions lit up their animal-like faces. They were little devils, every one, and she wasn’t shy about it. 

“Laura,” she would call, “don’t let them see you looking.”

But Laura had none of her fear, none of her cowardice. Laura would look, full and lusty, eyes as wide as the platters that heaved with fruits and sweets. Laura would laugh as they came near, would giggle at the fair folk, would follow them with hungry eyes.

When Laura had taken hold of that pomegranate, Lizzie knew it wouldn’t end well.

One of them reached out to take a lock of Laura’s hair in its monkey grasp. “No coin?” it sneered, “You foolish girl.”

Lizzie had gasped and screwed her eyes shut as though that was any use. She’d whispered frantically _don’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlook_ , and so she hadn’t seen the way the goblin men floated her sister off the edge of the platform, danced her about in mid-air, and threw her, careless, onto the tracks below. 

_Don’tlookjustdon’tlook_ , and by the time Lizzie had opened her eyes again, Laura and the goblin men were gone.

“Laura?” She called. “Laura, this isn’t funny! Come out!” She got to her feet and paced the platform, looking around the corner of the public toilets, looking around twisted metal rubbish bins. She even peered up the steps that led out into the busy weekend traffic beyond. People were moving on with their business, occasionally craning their necks around to look at Lizzie. Laura was nowhere. As the next train shuddered along the tracks and its passengers bled out onto the platform, Lizzie knew as sure as anything what had happened. She hadn’t needed to look; the goblin men had eaten her sister up.

Lizzie stomped through the door of number 112, not bothering to close the door gently. Its slam was a testament to her inner panic. How could she tell their mum? How could she phrase it? _Oh, Laura and me were doing that very thing you told us not to do. And now they’ve disappeared her just like Jeanie, just like you warned us_. Their mother would freak, naturally. Lizzie locked the door beside her and kicked off her trainers, aiming them in the general direction of the shoe rack. She whistled and waited as Jeb the shepherd dog loyally padded to her side, his great big head pressing into her stomach, his ears warm against her hands.

“Jeb, the most rotten thing has happened, buddy.” She felt tears prickle her eyes. Somehow, just saying it aloud made it so much worse. It hadn’t seemed real until she felt the words leave her mouth. She sobbed openly, and Jeb cocked his head at her.

Their mother was still at work, at the head end of a twelve-hour shift at the hospital. She would be dealing with drunks and brawlers and stupid teenagers with knives, and she would do it all with a smile. Lizzie had until six am to get her story straight. She checked her phone: ten hours. They’d eaten at McDonald's before heading to the market, and the greasy cheeseburger sat heavy in her stomach, which burbled uncomfortably.

Lizzie made her way to her bedroom, Jeb trailing her, his great tail connecting with various knick-knacks along the way. She shared this room with Laura; there was an exact line across the middle that separated their territories. She slumped onto the bed and pulled her laptop closer. She loaded up the search engine and stalled.

 _Goblin kidnapping. Fair folk abduction._ It brought up results pertaining to several unsolved missing person cases and a police investigation that had ultimately gotten nowhere. Everyone tried to blame the fair folk for things that they hadn’t done; they were society’s lowest citizens. They lived in the dark corners of the world that they had to carve out themselves because they sure as hell weren’t getting any help from the humans. They lived in fear of persecution, with every move they made scrutinised. In fact, as Lizzie searched, she was finding more crimes _done to_ the fair folk than by them. It seemed reports against them were discouraged and ended up being dismissed out of court - ostensibly, so the Daily Mail said, because no one wanted to get on their bad side. The newspaper had brazenly stated that the fair folk were outright blackmailing the chief of police. Lizzie frowned. She wasn’t sure what to believe.

There was a half-hearted Wikipedia article about Jeanie’s disappearance. It didn’t seem like two years since it had happened; Lizzie could still remember the stricken look on her parents' faces when she’d been taken - their half-dead eyes, how gaunt they’d turned in just a few hours. Everyone at school had a different version of events - some said Jeanie had attacked a fairy, others said she’d fallen in love with a fey man and ran off to join him in some sick elopement. Someone had set up a fake GoFundMe page in Jeanie’s name, a perverse prank that went viral. _Missing teen shares plea for donations._ Whatever the truth was, they’d never learned. Her parents maintained her Facebook, but she had never returned. The story had gone stale until eventually people stopped even talking about her, stopping mentioning any leads, until Jeanie was just the latest girl to disappear without a trace.

And now Laura too. Lizzie wiped away the tears as she opened up an old forum in which various people discussed their encounters with the fey. It seemed promising, if wildly outlandish. One user claimed they were half-fey themselves and knew how to contact them. _Find a fairy ring. Bring an offering. Cakes work best or bread in a pinch. Something you’ve made yourself. Don’t wear any iron or wards; that’ll only piss them off. Call out your intent three times. Don’t expect to like what you find, and for god’s sake - be careful._

Lizzie considered it. Could she do it? Could she rescue Laura, and have her back home in time for bed? Surely if she could just talk to the goblins, explain what had happened… Surely they were reasonable? She had to at least try. She’d feel better explaining it to her mum if she tried to save Laura first, rather than just accepting things. Not that it had done Jeanie’s parents any good. They’d tried all sorts: a medium, an elf lawyer - even an orc ritual, or so the kids at school said. 

She slammed her laptop closed with more force than was probably necessary. “Jeb,” she called, “I’m going to summon the goblin folk.” 

Jeb blinked placidly at her and wagged his tail. 

She pushed off her bed and tore into the kitchen, gathering ingredients at random. _Bring an offering. Something you’ve made yourself._ She was no chef; she could scarcely manage beans on toast. She grabbed some bread and made a clumsy ploughman’s sandwich. It wasn’t much but it was the best she could manage, considering the circumstances. The pickle glistened as she spread it, reminding Lizzie of the glow in the goblins’ eyes. She shuddered. Was she really ready for this?

She tousled Jeb’s giant face. “I’ll be back before mum gets in. I promise.” Though she was thinking, truly, that it wasn’t a promise she could make. The fair folk had already taken her sister, what if she was next? Lizzie gulped. She thought of Laura, her awkward twin, her sullen silent sister, gone and likely terrified. She owed it to her to at least _try_.

“Be a good boy,” she told Jeb, and fed him a cheese offcut on her way out the door.

**LAU** **RA**

Laura’s tower was the tallest building around for miles, leering slightly over the other urban tower blocks. It cut a hundred and fifty metres into the blackening skyline, peering over the landscape that had once been London town. Once, before the end, people had lived in the tower, several hundred strong. They had lived and worked and played and loved, and they had died, years ago, in the long winter that still stretched on endless.

Laura lived in number 112, the flat she had once shared with her family. It consisted of a large living area, with a kitchen and two bedrooms forking off, and a bathroom attached to the sleeping area. It was a small, modest space, and Laura kept it clean in contrast with the dusty world outside. She locked the door behind her and dropped her satchel on the waiting table. She kicked off her shoes and let her socked feet sink into the damasked pink carpet her mother had so carefully chosen.

It felt good to be out of the worst of the cold. Laura moved towards the small balcony that was connected to the living area, with just enough room for the wind power generator that spun madly in the freezing winds. Laura checked the battery; it was almost at a hundred per cent. She could use the heater tonight, and for that she was glad. 

She flicked on the kettle and watched the pre-boiled water bubble away. She missed having milk in her tea. It was odd, the things one missed in an apocalypse. Milk for tea, fresh air, company - trivial things, but weighty. She stirred the tea and clinked the teaspoon against the side of her mug, tapping out a melody. She brought the cup to her lips and breathed in deep. 

In the beginning, she had hoped to find another person. She had cried herself sick, screaming at the open sky, calling for her mother, for her sister, for anyone at all. Her only answer had been the ice-cold wind at her back. _No one_ it blew in her ears, _no one is left_. She looked out of the window at the dead beyond, at the dust clouds gathering below, and her tea felt heavy going down.

She was so lonely, she had almost been pleased to see the goblin men, in those early days. They still ran their procession through town, down the subways, down the empty streets, every day a new song to a nonexistent audience. They still hoisted their wares high on silver and gold platters, their eerie voices echoing in the still air. _Come buy._ Day by day, she heard them. She’d stop and listen, wherever she might be. She had nightmares in which they cavorted and teased her. 

Tonight she heard them before she saw them, and she rushed out to meet them in the street. 

They were formed into an orderly caravan dancing down the centre of the road, along the unwavering white line. The goblin men were animated and ferocious, all nightmarishly fused together from bits and pieces of different living creatures. Here a goblin with cat ears, there one with the snout of a wolf, and the lidless eyes of a trout. Each one sent a shiver down her spine - and all the while they sang. Some played the pipes, sending the sounds up and up, into the sunless clouds above. They saw her watching.

 _Laura,_ went their wretched song, _alone in the world, stole our fruit and now she’s paying_.

She wanted to profess her innocence, but she _had_ stolen their fruit. She had taken without paying, and this was where it got her. _Everyone’s dead but poor little Laura, everyone’s dead and buried._

She clamped her hands over her ears, blocking their words to a dull whisper. “Shut up!” She cried. “I don’t want to hear your rubbish.” She hated their words, hated the sight of them, but the truth was they were all she had in all the world, and without them she feared she would go mad with loneliness. 

_She wants to shut us up but she comes out to listen to us sing. Who’s the hypocrite now?_ This last was hissed venomously by the trout-eyed man who reached out to tap her forehead viciously. 

**LIZZIE**

There was a fairy ring in Gillespie Park. They’d discovered it years ago and the council had decided to protect it, placing a thick plastic barrier around its boundary to keep it safe from the elements. There was a sign saying _Do not touch_ , in both English and old Gaelic. Lizzie ran her fingers over the sign. She didn’t need to touch the fairy ring itself, only dance around it. She stared down at the mushrooms below, gathered perfectly in the wet grass. She had never summoned anyone before; she wasn’t quite sure how it was supposed to go.

She shucked off her outer layer. It was too warm to be wearing her big coat really, it was April already, but she’d frantically grasped it as she’d left the flat. She let it fall to the grass below. Lizzie reached into her school bag and pulled out the sandwich. She pulled aside the clingfilm, wondering if the fairies needed to see it or smell it or what. She waved the sandwich around enticingly. Nothing happened.

Lizzie sighed. She began to walk in a perfect circle around the fairy ring, one hand holding the sandwich, the other trailing along the barrier. Her finger made a noise as it pulled along the plastic.

“Fair folk,” she said, “listen up. Fair folk, hear me. You’ve taken my sister. I want her back. I want her back!”

On her fourth trip around the fairy ring, she raised her voice to a shout. “I want my sister back!”

On her sixth trip, she began to feel _funny_. Wrong. She braced herself on the plastic barrier, but the world was determined to go belly up. She gasped, fell, and landed face-down in the wet grass.

Lizzie pulled herself up on her elbows. There at her side, was a goblin man, eerie and goldish around the edges and _angry._ She supposed he was a man, anyway. He wore a confusing array of colours - maroon breeches, a silken silver waistcoat, a ridiculous oversized belt. His hair was silvery white, and his face was pockmarked with age. He was humpbacked, and he shifted irritably on his feet.

“What business have you, _human_ ?” He said it like a curse. “Summoning the _sidhe_ in such a way?”

“My sister -”

The goblin held up one gnarled hand. Lizzie could see the veins beneath his skin, pulsing purple. “Yes - I heard.”

“She was taken earlier tonight. It must be a mistake - you have to understand-”

“We don’t _have_ to do anything you humans command.”

“Please-”

“Too long have we been victimised by the state.” 

“I know that. I’m on your side. My mum voted for fey rights in the last election.” Their local MP was keen on fey rights too, and ostensibly had an elf several times removed on their family tree.

“How charming. So go on. Tell me: what happened to your sister?”

She hadn’t seen, and she cursed her cowardice, wondering if there was something she might have done, if only she had been braver. “We were at the goblin market, down at Holloway station, and she must have eaten something.”

The goblin hissed, a sharp intake of breath. “Rookie mistake. Didn’t she know better?”

Lizzie despaired. “Apparently not.”

“Fair folk don’t make mistakes. She likely offended one of our kind. Eating of our fruit is strictly restricted.”

“I _know_ that.” She thought for a moment. “But… why did the goblins offer it in the first place? ‘Come buy’, that’s what they said - what’s that all about?”

He scowled. “Do you humans completely lack common sense? Do you think everything offered on a platter is automatically yours for the taking? Did she pay for it?”

Lizzie hesitated. “I didn’t see. But I don’t think so. But… I’ll make sure she never does it again. It was her first time. Don’t we get second chances?”

The goblin pulled himself up to his full height, some two and a half feet of quivering sternness. “Second chances? How many fair folk get second chances? Do you have any idea what percentage of the jail population is fey? Do you?”

Lizzie shook her head uselessly.

“Seventy-four per cent.” He evidently expected some reaction, and she gasped before he continued. “And how many of them do you reckon asked for a second chance? How many did nothing wrong?”

“I understand that but - mate, she’s _just a kid_.”

“What I’m saying is, we have our rules for a reason. She stole our fruit.”

Lizzie chewed her lip. He had a point. “I’m sure you do, and I respect that - but you can’t just go about kidnapping people. It does nothing for your image, for one thing.”

The goblin knitted his brow together. She seemed to have hit a nerve. He chewed his wormy lip. “You mean to tar all fey with the same brush?”

“Of course not. But you’re not exactly being a model citizen, if you condone child abduction, are you? She’s only sixteen.”

“I never said I condone it.”

“So will you help me, _please_?”

“You want your sister? Find her yourself. I’ll send you to her, but I’m making no promises about bringing you back. You’ll have to find an alternate means of transportation, I’m not waiting around to fetch you.”

He snapped his fingers and, all at once, Lizzie was acutely aware that it was _cold._

The park was gone. In its place was ice and ash, the moon scarcely peaking through the dust-laden sky. There were pieces of wreckage everywhere, as though they’d been forgotten for years and years. Lizzie gasped.

She let the cold wind pick up stray edges of her hair and whip them about her face. She turned full circle. The fairy ring was gone, the _world_ was gone. Had she hit her head? It must be that. But no - the more she looked, the more she understood. She was still in Gillespie Park, but it was ruined almost beyond recognition. It looked as though the world had gone to shit.

“Hello?” She called. “Mr Goblin?” She was still clutching the sandwich, stupidly. She supposed he must have transported her - and if he’d done that then there was a good chance that this was where Laura had been taken, too. 

Lizzie stuck out her chin and drew in an ice-cold breath. This was what she’d come here to do. She began walking through the frost-bitten ground. She kicked at fallen tree branches, at the cracked brown earth that lurked beneath everything. How odd, she thought. No birds, no insects, and not another person around no matter how far she walked. 

The streets that she walked down were completely devoid of life, an empty shell of a world. It seemed as though life had been interrupted at once. Burnt-out cars lined the roads, bikes were resting against fences, doors were still propped open. She made it to Plimsoll Road, before doubling back to Arsenal underground station, afraid of what she saw. There, in the dark tunnel, were the goblin men, still parading along the tracks to a non-existent audience.

“Hello!” she called, and they looked at her through heavy lidded eyes. “Excuse me!”

One, a grisly looking fellow with the facial features of a rat, stopped in his tracks and approached her. His body betrayed a tense sort of energy. She turned her head and he mirrored her. He copied her expressions.

“Hello there,” she said. “Can you help me?”

“Hello there. Can I help you? That depends on what you need.” His voice was like the roar of distant thunder.

Lizzie scratched her head and he mirrored this, too. “Where am I? Why is everything destroyed?”

“You’re in goblinland, lass, or one of them.”

“There’s more than one goblinland?”

“There are infinite lands.” He said this airily. He waved his platter of grapes enticingly. “Care for a morsel?”

“No thanks.” Eating goblinfruit was what got them into this trouble in the first place. “I was speaking to a goblinman and he told me to rescue my sister myself. I assume she was brought here. Do you know anything about her?”

“ _Poor Laura,_ ” he sang, in a cruel voice. “ _Alone in the world, stole our fruit and now she’s paying_ . Oh yes, we know _her_. Ten years she’s been our guest, ten years and change.”

“Ten _years_?” Lizzie frowned. It had scarcely been a couple of hours. “What are you talking about?”

“Ten years - a decade - eighty seven thousand six hundred hours. _Poor little Laura, all alone._ ”

Lizzie frowned. He wasn’t making a lick of sense, and he was annoying her besides. “Look. Do you know where my sister might be?”

“We don’t tag humans with GPS. She’s _your_ sister.” He said scornfully. He spat at his feet, to show her just what he thought of the concept. His face bittered. “Where might she go?”

Lizzie knew it. “Home.”

**LAURA**

The weather often fluctuated wildly, roaring rain followed by bitter cold snaps, the clouds coming and going in the sky. Laura had long since given up trying to predict it. There was nothing in the wasteland that was predictable; why should the climate be? It rained when it wanted, acid or otherwise. The stink of it hung on her clothes like a permanent reminder. The tight air made her sweaty and sticky. 

She groaned internally as she stepped out onto the ruined street. She kicked out at a flaking leaflet on the floor, offering two-for-one at Subway. Its glossy coating was peeling off. Laura thought, suddenly, how much she’d give for a sub of the day. Meatballs, maybe, or lush red peppers. Her stomach growled at the thought. It had been far too long. Ten years of hunger pent up in her abdomen, clawing to get out.

She headed for the scrapheap. Its towering piles of junk welcomed her in, and she kicked around the rusted bicycle remains at the entrance. Before the end, she would never dream of coming here, but now she found she rather enjoyed her time at the tip. It was a veritable minefield of treasures and, of course, goblin junk. 

As she walked through the barely-stable piles, her eye caught of something shiny. As she leaned closer she saw it was goblin gold, a jagged little coin bearing one of their strange symbols. She picked it up, running her fingers over the raised edge, and then she threw it with all her might, over the far edge of the nearest pile. It clattered onto some broken glass, sending up a high _ring_ into the air.

As she picked her way through the devoid landscape, Laura kicked aside an old DAB radio, and it turned to ash under the weight of her boot. She filtered through the remains for its battery, if she was lucky. She was. As she went to slip it into her pocket, she felt eyes on her. It was a distinctly chilling feeling. She was not a fan of it, that itching feeling at the back of her neck. 

Laura had not dared to hope that there was another human being left in all the world. She wondered what manner of animal might have survived. A rat, perhaps, tough as nails, or a cockroach - but it was human eyes that she felt on the back of her neck, she was almost certain. 

She cast about for someone, anyone. 

Her eyes caught on a small figure in the middle distance, wearing an absurdly white dress, easily standing out against the grey. It was a girl, pale and ghostly, picking her way through the ruined landscape, her back now turned away. She seemed real, if there was such a thing. She seemed solid. She lacked that strange glow that the goblins had about them. She turned, suddenly, and her brown eyes caught Laura’s own.

Laura gasped and dropped the battery. It rolled away under a scorched car and she dropped to her knees to retrieve it, hoping the mysterious figure would disappear. 

She caught her breath. When Laura straightened up, she was alone. She sighed. It must have been an apparition. It wouldn’t surprise her if the goblins were to blame. Their tricks were endless, or so they seemed to be, and after ten years of solitude, Laura half-expected to start seeing things. Her mind was the wrong side of desperate; it must be that.

Still, it played on her mind. She thought of its little figure, pale and whole, cutting a stark contrast against the wasteland. It had seemed so clear. It had seemed so real. The goblin men were golden, glimmering, graceless. They had shining eyes like dragon’s jewels, and their voices were shrill as a shrike’s. They didn’t walk so much as _flutter_ , in and out of focus, like an old tape. And they sang all the while, their terrible songs piercing the empty atmosphere.

The ghost had seemed altogether more solid, if ghosts could be such a thing. It had seemed softer around the edges. Laura did not entertain the idea that perhaps it wasn’t a ghost at all. Such thoughts would have driven her mad by now if she allowed them. She had learned long ago that there were no humans left; only herself and the goblinfolk, and they certainly liked to remind her so. ( _Poor Laura,_ went their songs, _everybody’s dead and gone_ ).

“Hello?” She called, but it was far too late. 

Her feet felt heavy during the return journey. Her thoughts were still with the ghost.

Her mind was so distracted that she wandered into the path of Caledonian station, where she distantly heard the goblins on their evening procession, ringing off the stone walls. The station was cold and she haunched up her shoulders. They reminded her of the knitting she held in her bag. Now was as good a time as any.

“ _Laura, poor Laura_ ,” they sang when they saw her, “ _still all alone; everyone’s dead!_ ”

“Quiet down,” she warned, and flung her backpack onto the ground before her. Several of the goblins drew up short and peered down, unable to hide their interest. They began to hold up the line, and several of the ones further back got uppity, their little faces twisted into snarls. Their eyes were so buggy they seemed fit to burst right out of their heads. Laura did her best to look contrite.

“I’ve got one blanket and two hats tonight - I made them small enough for goblinlings, with little bobbles on - look -” she reached into the bag and withdrew a pile of knitted goods, separating them so that the eager goblins could see her wares. Indeed, there were two bobble hats, one purple, the other a blue ombre. One of the goblins reached out her hands and took the pink purled blanket before the others could get a look in, with a sharp hiss of distrust at her neighbours.

“I thought you’d like that,” Laura said. If she was being honest, she thought she’d greatly improved in the past few years. It turned out she was rather good at knitting. “Last time you complained the blankets frayed around the edges. I’ve tied up the stitches properly now, so they should be good for a while. And I have a scarf that’ll be ready soon so, y’know, spread the word.”

“ _Poor lonely Laura,_ ” teased the voices as they bickered over the woolly hats, “ _got no friends, everyone’s dead, so she keeps on bothering us lot instead._ ”

To the goblin who reached out a bony arm to snatch up one of the hats, she said: “Do you accept? Are these good enough?”

“ _They suffice_ ,” he said. “ _We accept the payment_.”

“Good.” Laura said, then: “Thank you.” Laura had never considered how much one pomegranate would cost her, that she would still be paying after ten years in hell. They had come up with the idea of using knitting to trade shortly after the world ended. She had pleaded with the goblins to take it all back, and they had reminded her of what she had stolen. She had sworn, honestly, that she would do anything to make it all stop - and so they had pointed out that she could use knitting to settle the debt. She wondered, how much more was left to pay?

She had asked, in the early days: “If I pay you enough, will it bring everyone back?” 

“ _No,_ ” cried their ghostly voices, “ _there’s no rewriting history._ ”

It was sad really. They were her only contact, her only company in this horrid place. She had never thought she would hang on the goblins’ every word, but hang she did - so much so that her heart sank as they began to traipse away from her, down the subway tracks, hoisting their platters high, whistling as they went, as though they didn’t have a care in the world. She missed them almost immediately, such was her loneliness.

**LIZZIE**

Lizzie had fallen into an uneasy walk as she crossed the familiar streets - but this world wasn’t familiar at all. It was as though, in a heartbeat, the world had died. She left the goblin folk and their ringing music behind her as she left the Arsenal station and made her way further into Islington. She moved at a brisk pace, her extremities catching cold even as she walked. It was freezing here, and her breath was fogging up in front of her face; her gasps of exertion were little ghosts in the atmosphere.

Lizzie passed a tight gaggle of goblins making their way to the nearest tube station. They must have got separated from the main market group. The posse marched gaily down the centre of the road, their feet beating out the rhythm of their songs, carrying little flutes and trumpets, like a veritable marching band. “ _Poor little lost girl,_ ” they drummed out a catchy staccato, “ _all on her own_ . _The world’s gone belly-up and her twin is fully grown._ ” Lizzie frowned at them as they passed, trying to meet their yellow beady eyes, trying to ascertain from their body language and expressions whether they were lying or not. “ _Ten long years she’s found herself stuck - here on her own, oh what the -”_

“What do you mean, ten years?”

“ _After nine but before eleven - stuck in this place, the opposite of heaven_.”

“Give me a straight answer!” Her words cut through the still air. The goblins flinched visibly.

Although she did not understand their words, she certainly feared them. Ten years? She desperately needed to find Laura and get some answers.

Lizzie made it to the building where they lived but found the doors bound shut from the inside with planks of wood and assorted scrap metal. It looked as though the place had been ransacked. She punched the passcode into the hollowed-out interface, but nothing happened, though she hadn’t expected it to. She tried other random combinations but the dead computer gave no sign that it even registered her input. It made sense that it was busted - everything else was.

She crossed her arms and slid down the side of the building until she was crouching against the door. What had happened here? Why did it look so much like home, but yet so different? And where was Laura? And what _had_ the goblin meant by ten years? It certainly looked as though ten rough years had passed, from where she was standing out on the streets. It looked like something out of a B-movie set, all smouldered and dirty, and so _empty._ As if the world had simply passed on.

Lizzie stared at the empty dust-laden sky and glumly ate her sandwich with a lump in her throat. Pickle was usually her favourite, but she had a terrible feeling in the back of her mind that she’d gotten herself into some hella trouble. She didn’t much fancy keeping still; inactivity made her anxious. The longer she sat around doing nothing, the less chance there was of getting home before her mum. She checked her wristwatch but it had stopped ticking, the hour hand stuck halfway between eight and nine. _Great_.

Lizzie noticed a newspaper was wrapped around a lamppost. She retrieved it and checked the date: the fourteenth of April, which was today’s date, or rather the date that Lizzie understood to be today (it seemed an important distinction to make). Still she found herself wondering: what the hell had happened? Had there been a war? 

Perhaps this was where the fair folk took all the disappeared people? Some kind of halfway world, to torment their victims in exquisite detail. That made sense, but then Lizzie had never thought they were cruel enough to do that… Were they really so rotten? Was this where Jeanie had been taken too? Was Jeanie somewhere within the rubble, lost forever, maybe even dead? What would become of Laura if Lizzie couldn’t rescue her in time? She had so many questions and no clue where to begin searching for answers.

She kicked out at a dilapidated sofa. It looked as though someone had dragged it there purposely beside the front entrance of the block of flats, as if to sit on and wait. It was pink and puffy and she kicked at the threadbare arms. A plume of dust dispersed into the cold air at the contact. 

“Laura!” She called in her anguish. “Where are you?”

The air hung heavy on her chest. She realised, dimly, that she had left her inhaler at home on the kitchen worktop. _Typical_ . The last thing she needed was an asthma attack. She concentrated on her breathing, slow and steady, but her lungs still felt tight with pressure. The air was so thick with dust that the more she breathed in the worse it got. She could feel it beginning to spiral out of control. She took huge gasping breaths of the cold air, and willed her heartbeat to slow. _In and out, in and out_ . She concentrated on the flimsy feel of her skirt hem as it brushed against her knees; at the sharp way the cold bit at her fingers. She scuffed her ballet pumps on the kerb and willed her body to _relax_.

After five minutes of this, she eventually felt calmed, and she coughed throatily into the crisp air. The sound of it echoed around the surrounding tower blocks, and Lizzie felt all alone in the silent world. She sat herself back down. On the pavement beside her was the tiny skeletal body of a small mammal, possibly a rat, or something of that size. Its yellowing bones were catching a halo of dust. Lizzie’s stomach rolled. As she looked, she saw more bones, more bodies, here and everywhere, hiding underneath the most recent layer of grime, until she couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed them earlier. There were hundreds of them. Ash fell down from the skies, looking for all the world like snow. 

**LAURA**

She heard the ghost that evening. It was getting dark, and Laura had just finished her supper of rice pudding and a rationed spoonful of sugar. She was cleaning off her spoon at the sink when a lilting voice caught her attention. It sounded… sad. Desperate. Laura hung her head over the balcony. She saw the figure easily from her vantage point, solid and unwavering. Not a ghost then, perhaps? She certainly looked real enough. Down, between the sooty benches lining the pavement, the girl picked her way, kicking rubbish aside as she went. She seemed fervent somewhat, desperate even. She was running this way and that, her little sobs being carried on the wind to Laura’s ears. She scratched her face and left a white line through the ash that had alighted on her cheeks. Underneath the muck, she looked familiar. There was a certain quality about her face, as though Laura had known her years and years ago. Laura did not dare to hope. 

“Little girl!” she called. The figure looked up at the sound, eyes searching every window. “Little ghost! I’m up here.”

Finally, their eyes met, and Laura gasped, certain she had finally gone insane. She had finally cracked up. It was the only explanation. That, or her sister’s ghost had somehow decided to up sticks and start haunting after all these years - for the figure down below looked so much like Lizzie and held herself in much the same way, that Laura was stunned.

“Hello!” Called the figure that looked like Lizzie. “I’m not a ghost.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think I’d know if I was a ghost. And… you? Are you a human?”

Laura scowled at that. “Yes.”

“Same. I’m looking for my sister, have you seen her? She looks like me, only blonder.”

Laura laughed. She had well and truly lost the plot this time. It made some sick kind of sense, now that she thought about it, that she would hallucinate her sister come to rescue her after a decade of solitude. She was mildly surprised that it had taken this long. She thought her insanity must have plateaued by now.

Down on the pavement, not!Lizzie was craning her neck. “Hey, can you let me in? It’s creeping me out being out here alone.”

“No, I don’t think so.” She wasn’t sure whether or not she had any control of the hallucination. All the same, she wished it would go away. It was just the wrong kind of unsettling.

“Why the fuck not?”

“I’m not in the mood to entertain.”

Not!Lizzie made an obscene gesture, which was such a typical Lizzie thing to do that Laura was taken aback. 

“That isn’t polite,” she called down.

“Sorry, but, I’m _really_ creeped out. What happened here?”

“The end of the world. Didn’t you know?”

“I just got here. About an hour ago. Have you seen my sister?”

Laura was unsure of how to proceed. Would the hallucination persist if she just ignored it? She stared down at the little figure, entertaining the idea that Lizzie had come to rescue her - but it had been ten years, hadn’t it?

“I’ve been here for over a decade, and I’ve never seen another person. How are you here?”

“I told you, I’m looking for my sister. I summoned a gnarly goblin and he told me to look for my sister myself, and then I was here. That was in Gillespie Park.”

“How long has your sister been missing?”

The Not!Lizzie consulted her watch before swearing and shrugging awkwardly. “About three hours?”

Three hours? Not a decade? Laura frowned. None of this made any sense.

“I’m Lizzie by the way, what’s your name?”

Laura considered this, whether or not she should answer. If it was a hallucination, at least it was a friendly face. And if not…? “Laura,” she said, at length.

Not!Lizzie gasped audibly in the still evening air. She jumped up and down several times. “You’re…? Wha’? Laura, it’s me!”

Laura felt tears welling. “If I let you in, you’d better not be a goblin or a ghost.”

“I promise!” Not!Lizzie sobbed.

Laura took several stabilising breaths. She concentrated on known variables. The figure said it was Lizzie, that it had only been three hours. That she was here to rescue her. Laura undid the chain from the door. But, she supposed, they made their own rules. She slipped into her boots and began taking the stairs two at a time. She made it to the bottom and went to the nearest fire exit, which was the other side of the building from the main entrance where Not!Lizzie was waiting. She peered around the building, watching the figure that claimed to be her sister. She was swinging her arms and swearing under her breath.

“Hey,” said Laura, “over here.”

Not!Lizzie turned sharply. She gasped. She ran towards her with a limp, favouring her right ankle. “... Laura?” Did all hallucinations look so real?

“I’ve been here for ten years. How can I be expected to believe that you’re really my sister?”

Not!Lizzie carefully considered her words. At length, she drew in a deep breath. “This is goblin land, right?”

Laura scowled; she was certain she _hadn’t_ been transported to another world, but perhaps it was possible. She wanted it to be true.

“Right?” Said Not!Lizzie. “Maybe time passes differently here? I dunno, you say it’s been ten years for you, but it’s only been a few hours for me. Maybe?”

“This isn’t goblin land,” Laura insisted. “This is real. The world ended.” She had buried her damn neighbours, and her family, and her dog, and several hundred strangers. She had buried them all over the years.

“No, it _isn’t_.” Not!Lizzie stamped her foot. “The goblin man said he’d take me to wherever he took you. That’s here. Another goblin told me that this is the fey people’s land.”

Laura drew her shoulders together and folded her arms. She didn’t dare to hope. It couldn’t be…

“Oh Laura,” said Not!Lizzie, the tears coming anew. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

“I buried you.”

“It was just a trick. It wasn’t real.” Not!Lizzie was shaking her head, and she came a few steps closer. She held out her hands. “I’m sorry I took so long.” She hung her head and cried.

Laura felt her heart thumping like a trapped animal in her chest. She let her tense body be held by Lizzie. _Lizzie._ She let the tears run free and let herself get lost in the feel of another living person, finally, after all these years. Her sister clutched at her and tucked her head into her collarbone.

She was sobbing. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” said Laura, “there’s nothing you could have done.”

“I tried my best.”

“I know. _I know_.”

**LIZZIE**

It had been a strange half an hour. She was still not entirely certain what was going on, but Lizzie followed the woman who had once been her twin through the propped-open fire exit and up the long central stairway. It was grey stone, covered with graffiti, in varying degrees of artistic talent, and this at least was familiar. The doors to the flats were all wide open, and filled with the strangest objects. Laura pulled out a torch and used it to light their way, stopping occasionally to point out something of interest. “Look,” she said, on floor nine. “Look, that’s my stash of car parts, and there - look! - my spares for my turbine.” She seemed glad to have someone to talk to.

They paused on the twentieth floor and Lizzie tried to get her breath, clutching at the wall and coughing ungainly. She missed her inhaler yet again.

“I don’t suppose the lift works?” She gasped at length.

“‘Fraid not. Apocalypse, remember?”

“Ah. Right.”

Laura was not struggling at all. She seemed relatively fit, strong in the upper body, with muscular legs that tackled the stairs with ease. She was an adult, but her face still belonged to Laura. She was taller and had darker hair, and she was a little frazzled around the edges, but she was still her sister. Her face was gaunt, her hair sticking up at odd angles, her clothes tattered beyond recognition. She was a woman grown, and Lizzie had failed her. She had taken too long and, in the waiting, her sister had been alone in all the world.

Lizzie was glad to reach number 112. The door was open and inside it looked completely foreign. It was the same flat, the same furniture mostly, but everything was pushed up against the sides to make room for the collection of spare batteries and tools. The carpet was still that horrid shade of pink that their mother was so fond of but it was dirtier, having faced a decade without a Rug Doctor, and the windows were covered with plastic bin liners, emitting very little light. The door to the balcony was open and Lizzie could see something that looked like a full-on wind turbine ticking away dutifully in the far corner.

“Erm,” said Laura, interrupting her thoughts. She was lighting various candles placed strategically around the flat for optimum brightness. There were several on the low coffee table in the centre of the living room. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

“You still have tea?”

“Of course. I’m not barbaric. There’s no milk though, obviously.” She said it with the hesitancy of one who really missed milk.

Lizzie grimaced. “Go on then.”

“And I have to ration the bags, but I think we’ll be okay just this once. Y’know, to celebrate.” Her voice was full of nervous energy, and she kept bumping into things as she moved about the place. She knocked a statuette of a fairy onto the floor and caught it deftly before it smashed. Lizzie could see she had drawn a moustache on its pretty face and smiled.

The kettle boiled on the hob, the old fashioned way. (“I had to search every house in Islington to find this relic,” Laura said grimly). They watched in heavy silence as it whistled away, and then Laura filled two chipped mugs and used a single tea bag to make the tea. She edged one closer to Lizzie across the battered kitchen table.

“Thanks.”

“Listen,” said Laura, “How did you get here?”

“I told you. I went online and worked out how to summon the fair folk. Found some old forum with a bit of useful info. Then I had a lovely chat with a goblin and ended up here. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Fairy magic.” Laura had always been interested in the fair folk, to the point of obsession even, but Lizzie could tell that the years had done much to squash that curiosity out of her.

“Yep.”

“Maybe you can summon it again?” asked Laura.

“Maybe. We’d need a fairy ring, that’s what the internet said. Do you know if there're any nearby?”

“A fairy ring? Like, with mushrooms? No. All the mushrooms have died off.”

Lizzie glanced out the window, at the dead brown world beyond. “Ah.” Of course. After a moment’s consideration, in which she sipped her steaming tea, Lizzie said: “But this is goblin land, we can just ask them for help. They still run the market along the subway tracks, I’ve seen them.”

Laura sighed slowly. “They’re not the most cooperative of creatures. They rather like to watch humans suffer.” She sounded cold about it, as though she’d made her peace with it years past, and Lizzie winced.

“That’s true, but… I spoke to a goblin and he said I could fetch you. He wouldn’t let me come if there was no chance of getting out of here, would he?” She had to believe, in her heart, that the goblins meant well, that there wasn’t some truth to what everyone said about them. That they were _good_ people, when it counted. They had helped her so far, hadn’t they? Looking at Laura, she knew she’d think differently after ten years of being at their mercy. But still, the old worry… in her haste, she hadn’t thought as far ahead as the return journey.

“We’ll try and ask them. I’ve been paying them off with knitted things, they must owe me something by now.” Laura said this dismissively, as though she would rather not think about it. She grasped her mug reverently. “Are you hungry?” She left her chair and began rooting around the cupboards, pushing aside various tin cans. “How’s tinned corn beef?”

“Well, if KFC is shut…” Lizzie laughed.

“Closed for the foreseeable I’m afraid.” She was surprised to hear her sister could still manage to joke. Lizzie wasn’t sure what ten years alone would do to her, but she admired Laura for still being so… _Laura_.

Lizzie tucked in to her corned beef. It tasted _old_ , but it was still recognisable, and it was the calories she needed, the protein and fat content. As she chewed, she wondered whether or not she’d ever make it back home to mum. She wondered if she too would be stuck here for years and years, while time back in the real world just ticked on; if she would go feral with the solitude.

“Laura,” she said, slowly and carefully, when she had finished her food. “I’m _really_ sorry it took me this long to find you.”

Laura turned away. “Don’t be. You did your best.”

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you, all these years, all alone.”

“This morning I thought you were dead.” Laura reached out abruptly and grasped her hand, tight. “And now you’re not dead. This is the best day I’ve had in ten years. Don’t be sorry about it… Now, let’s find somewhere for you to sleep.”

Laura had gathered a lot of spare blankets over the years. In a world where the cold was omnipresent, it seemed that blankets and duvets were the currency of the land. Lizzie was surprised to see that Laura had made many of the blankets herself - they were the warmest, made of heavenly wool. The Laura that Lizzie knew had never so much as picked up a needle and thread, never mind an entire knitting needle.

Laura set Lizzie up on the sofa and they sat there together, staring out the open balcony door at the bleak weather, at the sun trying its hardest to shine through. Laura looked lost in the low light. She looked small, like a teenage girl again, one who had made such a silly mistake.

“We’re going home Laura,” Lizzie whispered. “I promise.” Another promise she oughtn’t make, but this one conjured a mistified smile on Laura’s grimy face.

“I’d like that very much.”

Lizzie stared at the sky. _Ten years, god._

**LAURA**

Laura was still having trouble accepting that her sister was _here._ That, after ten unlikely years, rescue had come in the form of someone she had missed so terribly. It seemed unreal - unreal that, somehow, the world hadn’t ended. It had gone on turning, without Laura, and the wasteland was just a goblin’s trick, just punishment for her theft. And, most unbelievable of all, they were going _home_ , together, if they could only convince the goblins to let them go. Faced with the prospect, Laura wasn’t sure she was ready to face her mum. Ten years of wasting away, and now suddenly this fresh hope; she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

In the morning, she and Lizzie woke early, sipping their cups of breakfast tea in silence. Laura had used a tea bag for each cup - after all, she was getting out of here, she could afford to push the boat out. They snacked on tinned peaches and a jar of preserved beetroot which tasted nicer than Laura would have normally expected. It was the excitement, she thought, and the nerves.

“Do you think mum will be angry?” said Laura, in a small voice, into her mug.

Lizzie frowned instantly. “Of course not. Why would she be?”

“But she always warned us.” She sounded half a child again.

“Everyone makes mistakes. Mum will just be glad you’re ok.” She sounded absolutely certain, completely confident in her worldview. “Trust me.”

Laura stared out of the open balcony doors, not knowing what to say next. The sky was threatening rain. It was still purplish with the early sun. Laura wondered if she was ready to return to her old life. She’d spent a decade getting used to the apocalypse, it was an uncomfortable jolt to be suddenly faced with the prospect of going home. _Home._

She didn’t look away when she next spoke. “Lizzie, do you have any plan for getting home?”

“Other than asking nicely, no.”

“I’ve asked for their help many times before. They haven’t been very forthcoming.”

“I can imagine. But -” she brightened, “The goblin that sent me told me you’d been paying, all these years. Surely you’ve repaid your debt by now?”

Laura thought of the knitting that she’d shared with the goblins over the years. Hats and blankets and flimsy finger-knitted bracelets, she had made them all with only one thing in mind: buying her freedom. Surely after a decade, she had made some progress?

Laura kept her assortment of bicycles in the car park out front. Some were in bits and pieces, rusted away beyond use, but others were intact, in varying types of condition. She had scavenged them from all around London, and it was a collection ten years in the making, and one she was quite pleased with. The good quality ones were arranged in shiny reflective rows, sheltered from the worst of the elements by a lean-to plastic carport that loomed above them. Most of the bikes had a thick coating of ash and dust, which they brushed off hastily while they browsed the selection. Laura thought carefully, selecting a pale blue bike with a quilted saddle, that she had been admiring ever since she first acquired it. It was certainly comfortable. Lizzie swung herself onto the seat of the nearest available bike.

“No helmets,” Laura said at length, regretfully. 

“No cars,” Lizzie said, with a shrug. She frowned then. “Laura… have you heard anything about Jeanie?”

Truthfully, Laura had thought herself to be in the real world all this time; she hadn’t spared a thought for Jeannie, who she supposed had been spirited away somewhere else. “No… but… if ten years for me was three hours for you - then how long has Jeanie been stuck wherever she is?” It had been two years, in the real world, since Jeanie had disappeared. 

“I wish we could have saved her.” Lizzie scowled deeply. “Maybe she didn’t come here? Maybe she went to another… dimension?” She sounded unsure, but Laura met her eyes sharply.

“Maybe! And time passes differently there.” It hurt her head, thinking about alternate dimensions like this. This morning, she hadn’t known they’d even existed.

“We’ll ask them,” Lizzie said resolutely. 

**LIZZIE**

She hadn’t ridden a bike in years, not since she was ten or eleven. It was slow going at first. Lizzie veered into a topsided bus and jammed on the brakes, nearly ending up on her arse. 

“Careful,” laughed Laura.

They went slowly, aiming for Holloway station. The streets had always been dirty, but now they were covered in a thick grungy layer of muck and ash and, as they cycled along the road, gentle snowflakes began to fall. Lizzie had never noticed before how pure it was, how it made everything beneath it seem so pristine. You would never know that ash and dirt lurked beneath. 

They left the bikes propped up against the bus shelter. The air was still, the sound of the goblin’s eternal singing reaching them even here. Fat snowflakes gathered on Lizzie’s jumper, and she crunched the icy grass beneath her trainers. Behind them, the London Metropolitan University loomed high. The air about them got thick with moisture and the snow turned to sleet and rain, great fat drops of it. Laura was prepared for the weather but Lizzie had left her coat in Gillespie Park and she swore repeatedly as the rain dripped down the back of her neck, soaking her through. They entered the station.

“ _Laura again, come to visit us folk, Laura poor Laura, a crook and a joke._ ” Their high voices tinkled towards them off the tiled walls.

Laura ignored them steadfastly. She dropped her backpack to the ground and dug in it for a brief moment, pulling out a handful of baby blue wool. It had become knotted somewhat and she spent several drawn-out minutes pulling it apart. When it was untangled, she began weaving the wool onto her left hand and looped it over each finger. Lizzie was reminded, suddenly, of playing cat’s cradle with Laura, years ago. As she went, the bracelet began to take shape. 

When she was finished, Laura waved it around pointedly. “Do you know what to do next?” she asked.

“Goblin men, hear us.” Lizzie tried to keep her voice level, but she couldn’t help how ridiculous she felt. “I’ve found my sister, and she’s paid her way over the years. Let us go home.” The goblins continued marching along, but every now and then one of them would turn towards the sisters, eyeing them suspiciously, but otherwise gave no indication that they had heard them.

Laura dangled the bracelet from her finger, as if to entice the goblins. They resolutely refused to make eye contact.

“Listen up you little buggers -”

“Charming,” came a drawling voice at their knees and there, leather jacket drawn up against the cold, was a goblin man a couple of feet tall, scowling at the rain beyond. As they looked at him, he snatched the bracelet up and rolled it onto his fat wrist. “Lovely, this is.” Lizzie wasn’t sure if it was the same goblin she’d met in Gillespie Park. He seemed similar somewhat, but then they all did, not that she would admit so aloud. He had the same crumpled face and displeased look, but she supposed it was speciest of her to say so, and she didn’t want to look a fool for asking.

“Erm, hello,” Lizzie said. “Thank you for coming.”

The goblin scowled deeper. “This is _our_ market. You’re the ones trespassing.”

“Oh. Thank you anyway. Thank you for allowing us to be here.”

“Yes yes. Let’s get on with it.” He waved his words away.

“My sister was sent - ”

“Save your breath; I’ve heard this one before. I was one of the goblins that sent her here in the first place.” That was why he looked familiar; there was something in his eyes. He looked Laura up and down appraisingly. “Seen the error of your ways?”

Laura looked sick. “I’ll never touch another drop of goblinfruit, I promise you that. And I’ve more than paid for the fruit I stole, over the years.” She gestured pointedly; some of the goblins were sporting her particular brand of knitwear.

“That is not for you to decide.”

“Ten years in hell?” her voice went scratchy.

“Ten years and change. And the knitted goods. It all adds up. We release you.”

Lizzie looked between them. “Great. So, can you do us a favour? Send us home?”

The goblin looked mightily offended. “Is that all?” he said, sarcastically. “I’m not your personal taxi service.”

“Yeah but…” said Lizzie. “I met a goblin yesterday who promised to help my sister get home.”

“Promised, did he? Did you get it in writing?”

“Well no. He sort of insinuated.”

“Insinuation isn’t binding.” He wagged his finger teasingly.

“Well you’re here now, aren’t you? You might as well. It won’t hurt anyone.”

The goblin shrugged his humpbacked shoulders. “ _I might as well_?”

“Yeah. It’ll be a gesture of goodwill. We’ll owe you one.” Lizzie wasn’t certain it was smart, being indebted to the fair folk in any way, but if it got Laura home then she was willing to try. They could work out the details later.

“You’ll owe me one? And I can take you at your word, can I?”

“Absolutely.”

His eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into his browline. “I can’t tell you how many fey have trusted humans on nothing more than their word - and how many have suffered because of it.”

Laura had been watching their exchange. She shifted in place, turning away from the rain. 

“Are you alright, Laura?”

“Fine,” she said, and Lizzie was unconvinced. “Just thinking… what’s gonna happen when I get back? How do we explain all this to mum?” She gestured down at her body, an adult’s body, a head and shoulders above Lizzie. Laura had always been tall, but she looked unmistakably twenty-six.

Lizzie took her pale hand. “Mum will just be pleased you’re okay.”

The goblin rolled his yellowish eyes. “So touching.”

Lizzie wasn’t in the mood. She turned back to him. “Are you going to help us or what?”

The goblin twirled his moustache around his fat little fingers. “I’m sorely tempted to leave you here to rot. It would be no less than you deserve. Bloody _humans_. But I must admit, the chance to have a human indebted to me is too much to pass up. You understand what you’re signing up for, correct?”

“Sure,” Lizzie said. “As long as it’s nothing illegal, I would be glad to help you out.”

“I’ll remind you of that, someday.” His greedy smile was repulsive. He flexed his fists as if in joy. “Come on then, if we’re doing this.” He waved them closer to him and they approached warily. He cocked his head to one side. “Any special requests?”

“Both of us, home safe, in one piece. Or, er, _two_ pieces.” Lizzie fixed her eye on him. He seemed to be the type to twist her words. You had to be firm with the fair folk, she had learned. “And - oh! - do you know anything about Jeanie?”

**LAURA**

The goblin faltered. “There are many humans with that name.” He seemed to be buying time.

“That’s no excuse,” Lizzie said hotly, “Kids have been going missing all over the place. Yes, it’s London, and people disappear all the time, but there’s evidence that at least some of those disappearances are down to goblinkind, but the police are too scared to investigate. What do you have to say about that?”

The goblin looked mightily offended; he hadn’t expected this. “I don’t speak for all goblins…” 

“No?” said Laura, in a snappy voice. She surprised herself with the attitude. “Then find us someone who does.”

The goblin screwed his face up. He looked like a stunned lizard, staring up into the sun. “You wish to commune with the goblin king?”

“Too right.” Lizzie looked incensed, but Laura was unsure. In all her years here, she had never seen the goblin’s leader, had never even spared him a second’s thought. For all the hundreds of goblins she had seen and spoke to, not one had ever mentioned their Prime Minister. 

The goblin sighed a sigh of utter resignation. “Take me hands.”

They did; his hands were warm and sweaty, and Laura recoiled. Lizzie caught her eye and smiled nervously. Laura screwed up her eyes tight as the goblin man began to chant, as she felt the ground fade away beneath her feet, and everything went out of focus, blurry even, until it snapped back into focus and they found themselves surrounded on all sides by tall old-growth trees. The smell of mould was sickly.

“Where are we?” Said Lizzie at once.

Their guide looked shocked that they didn’t recognise the place. “Parliament. The Fey version. Forest of Dean, to be exact.” He waved his arms about formally.

They were standing on an uneven patch of moss that was growing up along the roots of the nearest tree. The air was close and Lizzie was slightly wheezing from it. The goblin raised his hands awkwardly - he seemed nervous to be here. “Speak, and the goblin king will hear you.”

“Erm…” Laura started, but she was unsure.

Lizzie took her hand. “Goblin king, hear us. Please. I have been your… _guest_ for ten long years. I’ve paid my way and more, for what I stole, and for that I am released from your world. A-a-and I thank you for that. Don’t get me wrong. But another friend of ours is missing. She disappeared twelve - no, _two_ years ago. Sorry. Two years. Time is a little confused…” She turned to their goblin guide. “Um, is he listening?”

 _Yes_ said the wind in the trees. The sound of it echoed in the clearing.

“O-okay… Her name is Jeanie. She was fourteen. She went to our school, only one day she never made it home. Everyone said it was gang-related, you know, but then she was seen on CCTV at King’s Cross - you know, the goblin market. Obviously. That was the last place she was ever seen and we’ve always wondered what happened to her. She never turned up, not even her body.” She said this last with weight, as though urging the goblin king to answer her.

 _So?_ said the wind.

Laura cleared her throat, the better to project her voice through the open air. “So - so there was footage of her touching the goblin men, they showed it on the news, and the goblins touched her back - which is what they did to me to, y’know, transport me. So they must have transported her too. What we’ve come here to ask is - where did they take her? Is she ok? Can we have her back?”

The wind whistled ominously as though it were considering its reply. Laura felt stupid, standing there demanding answers of thin air. After a heavy moment, the wind picked up. _She lives_ , said the breeze, _in a prison of our own making. She too thought she could steal a morsel, oh how she was wrong._

Laura gasped. “She was only fourteen!”

_Old enough to want our fruit. Old enough to pay._

Laura found that the anger made her braver. “Y’see, there’s something fundamentally wrong if you’d condemn a child for a silly mistake.”

 _Maybe,_ said the wind, _but condemn we did._

“Alright. Can we rescue her… please?” 

_She hasn’t paid._

“Do you have any idea what our people say about your people?” She was acutely aware that she was being rude. “They say that the fey are second class citizens. That you’re lower than humans. Doesn’t that bother you?”

 _Yes,_ hissed the wind.

“Well, maybe it’s time to start reparations. Kidnapping is bound to give you guys a bad name. It isn’t right, to take people away like that. Give us Jeanie in good faith. We’ll make sure people know what happened, how you let us take her home. We’re on your side just… Send her back to her parents. _Please._ ”

“Please,” reiterated Lizzie.

_In good faith?_

“Yes. You have my word - we’ll do our best to make sure people know the truth.”

The wind picked up. _Agreed - but beware, we’ll hold you to it. A soul for a soul, unless you make good._

“We will.” After ten years, Laura felt she had come to understand the goblins pretty well. They were a simple lot, not overly keen on strong emotions. They hated liars. They liked pretty things, especially knitted goods. They were sticklers for saying exactly what you meant. But they were reasonable, they were… they were alright, really. “I swear on my life, we’ll tell the truth.”

 _We’ll hold you to it,_ the wind whistled again, and then their goblin guide was snatching up their hands again, and chanting as he went, until the ground disappeared again and the trees turned to tiny pinpricks in their eyes.

**LAURA & LIZZIE**

Laura was aware, abruptly, of the noise of a train passing through. She felt the wind whip her face. Her hair got mussed. Everything singled down to the high pitched _whoosh_ of the carriages hurrying past. Lizzie was no longer holding her hand, and she was _warm_ which was so unfamiliar as to be jolting. She had felt that the cold would never leave her.

“Lizzie?” She said as the world came into focus around her. She was in Holloway station again, or so the sign on the wall said, but it was packed full, people weaving in and out of each other. She was standing right up against the edge and getting buffeted as people tried to dive onto their train. She had to work to make sure she wasn’t pulled through the doors along with the crowd. The little goblin was nowhere in sight.

“Lizzie?” she called again. People were starting to look at her, wondering why she was holding the queue up. She backed away forcefully. “Lizzie, where are you?” She looked up into the blue, blue sky beyond the escalators and smiled to see a pigeon mid-flight above her. It was beautiful.

Her legs were going jelly on her, and she was spinning around enough to make the world swim. Everything was normal! So glaringly normal, so clear and alive and _real_ . People kept _tutting_ as they walked into her. 

“Laura!” Lizzie fought her way through the crowd towards her, and Laura flung her arms about her sister, who returned her hug with equal ferocity. “Laura, look at you!”

Laura looked down at her body, at her pale outstretched hands. The grime beneath her fingernails had disappeared. Her clothes were in one piece again. She was wearing her school uniform, her shiny new shoes. It was bizarre. 

“You’re still sixteen!” Lizzie sounded as though she could scarcely believe it. “We did it!”

Laura pulled her phone from her pocket. It worked as though nothing had happened, and it dutifully informed them that it was nine thirty three at night. As she held it, it began to ring.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This story... got away from me a little bit...


End file.
